


The Black and White Kaleidoscope

by theoneandonlyzoom



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (the season 2 midseason finale), Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, M/M, Minor Violence, minor language, spoilers up to "Running to Stand Still"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8356195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlyzoom/pseuds/theoneandonlyzoom
Summary: In the dead of night, when the Cortex is empty and the festivities have finally drawn to an end, the devil comes for him.(An AU insert that follows immediately after the season 2 midseason finale episode "Running to Stand Still")





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Чёрно-белый калейдоскоп](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184116) by [DarkMoska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMoska/pseuds/DarkMoska)



> I have two wonderful betas to thank for helping me work this whole thing out: nomwrites and ladyofpride. Check out their own stories if you ever get the opportunity.

In the dead of night, when the Cortex is empty and the festivities have finally drawn to an end, the devil comes for him.

~*8*~

Harry can’t find it in himself to attend the party after what he did tonight. A deal with the devil to save his daughter… Such a noble and cowardly thing all wrapped up in one, but he is a father first and a good man second, so any guilt he feels is almost entirely numbed by the shock of seeing his little girl alive again. For a moment in time, she was there, she was real, she was _in his arms_ …Then just as suddenly she was gone again, dragged back through that tumultuous tunnel of light into his adversary’s secret domain.

Harry runs a hand through his hair.

Then he does it again, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Zoom wants Barry’s speed. Why, he’s not sure, and Harry only has a vague idea of how to take it from the boy. It won’t be easy. It won’t be _good_ either, because Barry is the only hero in this city among so many criminal metahumans, and in a weakened state they will surely crush him.

Could Harry live with himself it he allowed that to happen? Could he trade the life of one child for the safety of his own?

He hasn’t killed anyone so young since the war.

Feeling a little lightheaded, he takes a seat at his workbench—at _Ramon’s_ workbench, because nothing here is his and nothing ever will be. He is an interloper. A _fraud_. He’s the snake in the grass, coiled silently as he waits for the opportune moment to strike.

If he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to go mad.

He finds it hard to focus without something in his hand, so he picks up a nearby screwdriver and starts turning it over and over again between his fingers. Already he can envision the apparatus with which to contain Barry’s energy, although he still doesn’t know how he’s going to extract it from the boy. He needs something lightweight, something he can hide on Barry’s suit…

Slowly, he stills his hand. He’s stunned by how readily his mind entertains the details of the boy’s demise, how quickly it works to condemn him…

Harry drops the screwdriver.

Someone moves behind him, near the door.

Alarmed, he snaps his head around—and finds Garrick standing there, fist raised as though he’d meant to knock against the door frame to announce himself first.

Harry tries not to look annoyed as he rubs the bridge of his nose. It’s late, after all, and he is incredibly tired.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Garrick says as he slips into the room.

Harry shakes his head. The corners of his eyes are burning with unshed tears, the product of the great swell of emotion Garrick so rudely interrupted, so he turns away again to rub at them while searching for something to say. It’s then that he notices the clock on the wall and sees the time. “A little early to ditch the party, don’t you think?”

“I only wanted to socialize long enough to let them know I was grateful for the invitation,” Garrick says, voice growing louder as he approaches. “I left early because I wanted to speak with you.”

What little is left of Harry’s strength almost dissipates at the sound of those words. Honestly, he doesn’t have the energy to withstand another one of Jay’s lengthy interrogations. He’s too weak to put up another fight tonight.

“Can’t this wait until the morning?” he mutters, returning the screwdriver to its rightful place on Ramon’s desk before pivoting sharply on his heel, making a beeline for the door.

His intends to push past Garrick and stomp off to his cot down the hall before the other man notices the redness of his eyes—but Garrick is faster, even without his speed, hand curling around Harry’s right elbow and swinging him smoothly, if a bit forcefully, back around.

The measured sway of their bodies feels a little like a dance.

“I…think it’s important that you hear this now,” Garrick replies—and he does indeed notice of the puffiness around Harry’s eyes. It’s probably the only reason he opens his mouth and then slowly closes it again, suddenly uncertain of what he has to say.

Harry’s eyes begin to sting again.

But _these_ tears are hot with anger.

Embarrassed now on top of everything else, Harry tries to yank his arm free, but Garrick maintains his hold. So he grits his teeth and hisses with all the venom in his withering heart, “Let _go_ of me!” —and _that_ somehow prompts Garrick into action. He releases Harry like he’s been burned, looking first enraged and then shocked, although why Harry doesn’t quite understand.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Garrick finally says. Slowly; cautiously. “You saved all those children tonight but—”

“I’m not listening to this,” Harry snaps as he turns away again.

This time, Garrick doesn’t try to stop him. He does take up after him though, continuing unfazed. “—but you still haven’t been able to save your own daughter and it’s eating you up inside.”

Harry stops dead in his tracks.

Garrick very nearly walks right into him. In fact, they’re only inches apart when Harry turns, this time of his own volition, to face the other man. “Garrick, I’m _warning_ you…”

Garrick just stares him down. “You feel guilty. Powerless. And you’re trying to suffer through it alone because you feel like you deserve it—”

“ _Don’t I_?!” He hollers, leaning forward into Garrick’s _fucking_ face. “You don’t _have_ children.” The tears come freely now. His throat tightens suddenly. Somehow though he’s able to choke out, “She’s not supposed to die before me! But she might… _because_ of me.”

He waits a second to see if Garrick has anything brilliant to say in retaliation, but the other man’s eyes are stormy and his lips are still tightly pressed together—and Harry is moments away from a complete mental breakdown. So he takes this as his cue to leave, walking slowly now across the room and out into the hall.

Once he’s rounded the corner, he finally hears Garrick move. Every muscle in his body tightens in preparation of a fight, adrenaline running high, vision blurred by his tears—but Garrick is not, in fact, coming after him. Instead of turning after Harry, he stomps in the other direction, toward the Cortex and the elevators.

Harry feels weak with relief.  

He reaches out with one hand to touch the wall. Takes a deep breath. He doesn’t understand how he can keep a strong front up against Zoom and yet a brief outburst against Jay Garrick completely drains him. He assumes it’s mostly due to his disappointment in the other man, who did little to control Zoom back on their world while doing everything in his power to tear Harry down in the public’s eye. However, Garrick’s tune was noticeably different tonight. For once, there was no condemnation in his voice. Just the subtle sound of sympathy.

Harry bows his head as he continues his slow march to his room.

For once, he doesn’t feel as though he deserves that sympathy.

Tired and confused, he tries to clear his mind, focusing simply on putting one foot in front of the other until he reaches his destination. Once inside, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his head, folding it mechanically before setting it down on the desk in the corner. His undershirt follows shortly after before he shuffles over to his cot and sits down, leaning forward to loosen the shoelaces on his boots. His fingers are trembling slightly, but he’s still able to get them off, stuffing his socks into one before setting them off to one side near the foot of the bed.

It’s only because his upper body is turned toward the door that he notices Garrick lurking there, leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed, expression completely impassive.

A small chill runs down Harry’s spine before the hot, steely fingers of rage chase it away. Harry’s room is at the very end of the spiraling hallway and doesn’t have a door, but everyone has the common decency to announce themselves when rounding the bend at night, just in case he’s asleep or in some state of undress, exactly as he is now. Garrick knows this, and yet here he is, intruding on the closest thing Harry has to a haven in this backward world.

“What the hell could you possibly want now?” Harry growls, anger barely contained as he rises from the cot, bare feet padding against the floor as he approaches Garrick.

Garrick doesn’t move; doesn’t say a word.

Just lets his gaze wander down Harry’s chest before flickering back up to his eyes, expression still unreadable.

“ _Get out_ ,” Harry warns him.

“…No.”

This time, Harry swings first.

Garrick ducks his head deftly down and away—but he’s completely caught off guard by the sudden uppercut Harry delivers next. Harry’s not a speedster, but he knows how to fight, and the hit catches Garrick square on the jaw, hard enough that his teeth rattle together. He makes a muffled sound of pain as he stumbles back a step.

Harry stands there for a moment, watching as Garrick touches his jaw gingerly in surprise. Oddly enough, landing that blow almost makes him feel as good as seeing Jesse alive again, hands no longer trembling as he turns away in satisfaction.

Bad move.

Harry’s barely taken two steps before Garrick’s arms envelop him, putting all his weight and effort into slamming Harry hard into the ground. Harry very nearly clips his head against one cot’s legs, trying to turn as best as he can to take the brunt of the fall on his shoulder instead of his face.

Pissed off beyond belief now, he cants his hips as much as he can to one side, Garrick’s arms still restraining him, so that he can wedge his elbow under the other man’s diaphragm. He doesn’t have enough room to make it hurt, but Garrick’s surprise and discomfort at the sharp jab loosens his hold enough that Harry can snake his right arm free, reaching up over his shoulder then to awkwardly palm his hand over the side of Garrick’s face and press his thumb sharply into his goddamn eye.

As expected, Garrick jerks his head back, but Harry keeps the pressure up, momentarily contemplating whether or not he _should_ blind the man just before the moron finally releases him. Garrick immediately makes a grab for Harry’s wrist, but Harry is already pulling his hand away, rolling over so that he can pound Garrick right under the rib cage.

“ _Harry_!” the other man gasps, curling into the hit— _laughing_.

“Shut up!” Harry snaps, jabbing him in the ribs again, though this hit is softened by his own surprise. Why the _hell_ is Garrick laughing? “What do you want from me?!”

“To help you,” he wheezes, sitting up now. “Please, stop hitting me.”

“I thought I told you to get the hell out,” he mutters, slowly losing his vigor now, exhaustion creeping back into his bones. He pushes himself up onto his feet and wonders what the ramifications of kicking the bastard in the teeth would be. Barry and his team would probably throw him in the pipeline first thing in the morning, at the very least.

Either Garrick realizes his head is at perfect kicking height or he just wants to get up off the floor already, because he clambers quickly to his feet then and faces Harrison. “Do you want to know why I left the Christmas party so early?”

Harry’s momentarily thrown for a loop with the non sequitur. “Not really.”

Garrick continues, unbidden, “I realized there wasn’t a soul in this world that liked you.”

Harry…well, Harry _knows_ that already, but it still stings a little. Then again, his reason for coming here has nothing to do with making a glowing interdimensional reputation for himself, so he really shouldn’t care.

“Good thing I have no intention of living here indefinitely,” Harry mutters, taking a seat on his cot. “Thank you, Garrick, for cutting your night short to share that vital bit of information with me.”

“I don’t think you get it,” Garrick says, smile slowly fading. “They talked about you quite a lot tonight. Well—you and _Eobard_ , but I don’t think they’ve mentally separated the two of you completely yet.”

Harry is…mildly surprised. “Barry knows my doppelganger’s body was stolen.”

“Why not part of his mind too?” Garrick replies. “So far as they’re concerned, that madman was just as much ‘Harrison Wells’ as he was ‘Eobard Thawne’. You’re as smart as him, after all, so why wouldn’t you be just as devious?” Garrick grins again, but it’s a mirthless thing. “And you _are_ devious, aren’t you? You can say what you like, Harrison, but I know about the particle accelerator.”

Harry scowls. “First of all, that was an _accident_ …Second, I’m _not_ some fanatical serial killer like this Eobard Thawne.”

“ _I_ know that,” Garrick assures him, “but they don’t. Caitlin argued a little on your behalf, but Cisco quickly shot her down. He thinks there’s something unnaturally cold and easy about you. He just can’t look at you and _not_ think of Thawne.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. Of course, during the war he had regrettably killed boys almost as young as Cisco—but certainly _not_ by punching his hand through their heart right after claiming to love them. In fact, Harry despises the thought of murder. He never wants to be responsible for the death of another human being so long as he lives.

But Barry…

Harry swallows hard.

Garrick slowly sits down next to him on the cot. “Barry, by the way…there’s something off about Barry.”

Harry blinks. “Barry is probably one of the kindest young men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“I agree, but apparently he’s been estranged from the rest of his team ever since he opened the singularity. You can ask the others if you don’t believe me.”

“I think that has more to do with his guilt than anything else.”

“That’s how it starts,” Garrick says softly. “But the Speed Force isn’t some benign entity, Harry. Look at Zoom and how mad he is with power. Look at…look at me.” Garrick’s brows furrow, as though ashamed. “I know I was cruel to you on our Earth and for that I apologize. We could’ve done great things together, but it was just too easy to lash out. I had no sense of restraint. It’s pure insanity when you lose yourself to the Speed Force. Believe me.”

Harry feels the cold, icy tendrils of fear creeping up his spine. Barry is so innocent and naïve. He is, however, also already so intimately familiar with the Speed Force…

“I know what you’re thinking,” Garrick continues. “And I can assure you, there _is_ a darkness lurking inside of Barry Allen. It’s not his own—it was born of the Speed Force, and if you continue to make Barry faster…”

Harry stands up abruptly and begins pacing. Garrick stands up too, but he remains beside the bed, watching Harry move back and forth across the room. Harry wants to tell him—wants to tell him that he _has_ to make Barry faster, no matter the cost, but that Barry won’t have that speed for very long. Maybe then he can save Barry from this so-called darkness and find a new way to eliminate Zoom after their deal is through.

Maybe then Harry will have to kill only one monster…

But this is really too much for him to handle in one night. The stress of seeing his daughter again, so cold and afraid; of being chased and beaten by Zoom; of fighting with Jay; of being reminded of how alone he is in this world; of realizing how close Barry is to becoming just another speed demon; of how—

The glass shatters against the wall in a brilliant spray of light and water. Harry had only been dimly aware of his own hand closing around it as he picked it up off the nightstand and then hurtled it across the room.

Garrick doesn’t flinch as he watches it sail through the air, but he does give Harry a curious look after it shatters, as though honestly surprised by the outburst.

Ramon will probably be pissed when he finds out Harry’s been breaking more of S.T.A.R. Labs’ property, but Harry doesn’t really give a damn right now. This is, perhaps, the shittiest Christmas he’s ever experienced, second only to the one he spent alone with Jesse less than a week after her mother passed away.

Harry is not normally a violent man though, and he regrets throwing the glass immediately, but that hot coil of anger and frustration is still wound tightly in his chest and he feels a little like he’s suffocating. He needs—he needs air.

He needs to _get out_.

He makes a beeline for the desk in the corner, where his shirt is neatly folded—but Garrick quickly catches on to him and steps in his way. “Where are you going, Harry?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, moving to walk around the man. “Outside. Somewhere. For a drink.”

“What if someone recognizes you?” Garrick warns, moving once again to intercept him. “If you’re arrested, you can’t save your daughter.”

Without thinking, Harry plants both of his hands against Garrick’s chest and shoves the man hard enough that he almost trips over his own feet. Harry hasn’t felt so confined since he was a prisoner of war. “I _know_!” he shouts, “But I can’t—I can’t—”

Moving faster than he anticipated, Garrick reels back toward him—grabbing Harry’s left arm just above the elbow and yanking him to one side. Harry stumbles hard, the cot hitting the back of his knees before he can correct his balance, and so he falls, very nearly rolling off the bed onto the floor on other side. Still enraged, he attempts to sit up, but Garrick is suddenly there, hand around Harry’s throat as he pushes him back down again and straddles his waist.

Thankfully, Garrick’s not putting all of his weight into Harry’s throat, and clearly he has no intention of strangling Harry, but the audacity of this asshole to _assume_ he could just pin him down like that spurs Harry into motion. He bucks against the man hard in an attempt to dislodge him, and then, when that doesn’t work, reaches up with one hand in the hopes of gouging his eyes out.

Garrick is a hard man to fool twice though, and he’s still fairly quick, catching Harry’s wrist with one hand and pinning it to the cot beside Harry’s head before any damage can be done. At the same time, he squeezes the hand he already has around Harry’s throat, hard enough that it shocks Harry into prying at the other man’s fingers with his free hand, worried that Garrick will wait until he blacks out before releasing him.

Garrick is scowling at him as he leans in close, wearing that cold, unsympathetic expression Harry is so accustomed to—a complete contrast to the way in which he softly says. “I am your _ally_ , Harrison…The _only_ one you have on this world. _Don’t_ fight me.”

It’s a bit of a struggle to submit, but Harry knows when he’s lost a fight, and so he stops scrabbling at the hand around his throat, even though his vision is beginning to go a little fuzzy around the edges…

Instantly, Garrick loosens his grip, although he keeps his hand in place. At the same time, Harry becomes acutely aware of everything around him—Garrick’s panting breath, the faint smell of his cologne, the callouses on his fingers where they rub against Harry’s throat—and, most importantly, the tell-tale bulge between his legs, pressing down into Harry.

“You get hard off of ‘helping’ people, Jay?” Harry scoffs, voice hoarse. “Is that why you enjoy being a hero?”

“…Something like that,” Garrick replies, moving his hand to grip Harry’s jaw now, tilting it up at a better angle to accommodate his kiss.

Harry bucks against him again, this time in surprise, horrified that Garrick would just take advantage of him like that. He keeps his lips firmly pressed together, despite Garrick’s probing tongue, heart pounding in his chest as he waits for the other man to take a hint and give up already.

Which he does eventually, separating their faces only by a few inches, staring down at Harry intently.

“ _What_ do you think you’re doing?” Harry seethes, completely dumbfounded by Garrick’s actions.

“You feel trapped,” Garrick replies, “and you want to lash out at everyone. But that’s going to ruin your chances of stopping Zoom. So…” Slowly, Garrick releases his hold on Harry’s jaw, fingers ghosting swiftly down over Harry’s bare chest until they settle on the front button of his black jeans. “…you’re going to exercise your frustrations with me.”

“By fucking?” Harry asks incredulously.

“I really don’t fancy the idea of getting punched again,” Garrick sighs. Indeed, already there’s an angry red mark blossoming where Harry clipped him on the jaw earlier. “And if I have to expend any more energy on you, I would much rather waste it on something pleasurable.”

“What if—” Harry begins, but he’s cut off when Garrick kisses him again.

He doesn’t try to buck the other man off this time though, conflicted by Garrick’s offer. Harry would much rather fight, but now that he’s had a chance to cool down, he realizes that idea is just stupid, despite how pissed off he is at the other man. Garrick also happens to be the last person in any world Harry would ever want to have sex with, but since he’s literally the _only_ person in this world that would be willing to sleep with Harry, it almost feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Confused, Harry wraps his free hand loosely around Garrick’s wrist as he thumbs open the button on his jeans and pulls down the zipper. Then, with no class at all, he immediately dips his hand under the band of Harry’s boxers and cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Harry rolls his hips into Garrick’s touch, gasping at the warm sensation. Garrick takes this opportunity to dip his tongue into Harry’s mouth, kneading him with his palm as Harry slowly surrenders to his ministrations, releasing Garrick’s wrist so that he can cradle the back of Garrick’s head and deepen the kiss.

It’s been a while.

Maybe he could stomach a little sex with Garrick after all.

Just the once.

Garrick does a good job of warming him up to the idea anyway, stroking Harry to full hardness before he finally pulls his hand out of Harry’s pants and sits up to shrug off his stupid leather jacket. Harry reaches up then to start undoing the buttons on Garrick’s shirt. Garrick quickly moves to help him.

“What exactly is the plan here?” Harry asks, wondering what the other man’s expectations are for this brief affair.

“I want to fuck you,” Garrick replies, openly and honestly, as he finally pulls off his shirt and stands back, reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out a small plastic packet of something and tosses it onto Harry’s lap before he starts fiddling with his belt.

Harry stares at the packet—a ‘single use’ pack of lube—and then frowns at Garrick. “If you don’t have a condom, then this stops right here.”

Garrick actually has the gall to roll his eyes before he reaches into his back pocket again to whip out a small square foil. He tosses this at Harry and then resumes shucking off the rest of his clothes.

Satisfied, Harry leans over to put the lube and condom on the nightstand before kicking off his own jeans and boxers. He leaves them in a crumpled heap on the floor beside Garrick’s clothes as the other man kneels on the cot to join him, helping Harry shuffle over so that he’s lying lengthwise this time across the bed. Then Garrick steals one of the two pillows under Harry’s head and shoves it under Harry’s hips, evidently eager to get this show on the road as he leans over to grab the lube.

“If you need me to slow down, tell me,” Garrick says, at least admitting to his own impatience as he tears open the packet and squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers.

“I will,” Harry replies, knees bent, legs spread far enough apart to accommodate Garrick as the man reaches down behind his balls. “And if I tell you to stop, you’re not going to move a fucking muscle. Understood?”

Garrick nods, grinning, clearly just as amused with Harry’s pissed off attitude as ever. Then he pushes the first finger in.

Harry takes a deep breath and tries to relax. His heart is still racing from earlier, but the urge to punch Garrick in the face dissipates as the man curls his other hand around Harry’s cock and slowly strokes him, just a little out of time with the way he thrusts his finger.

Once it’s clear that Harry has no objections, Garrick adds a second, curling both fingers to search for Harry’s prostate, then scissoring them to loosen him up. Harry tenses, but says nothing, although Garrick adds a third too soon and immediately freezes when Harry’s breath hitches, staring Harry dead in the eye as he waits for some kind of warning.

Satisfied that Garrick is willing to stick to his word, Harry closes his eyes and says, “I’m good.”

Gradually, Garrick starts working him open again, slow and careful, as Harry wonders how he ever came to be in such a position, swaying back forth over this precarious boundary between pain and pleasure. And he’s referring to so much more than just the sex. There’s just something so unsettling about Jay Garrick, despite his obvious effort to help Harry, although the nature of that ‘help’ is a little unorthodox and Harry chalks it up to the fact that the Speed Force has indeed made Garrick a little… _weird_.

“Harry?” Garrick says suddenly, withdrawing his fingers.

Harry opens his eyes and stares at Garrick. He gets the message when the other man nods his head at the nightstand, so Harry grabs the foil and sits up. Since Garrick’s hands are covered in lube, he says, “You want me to do this?”

Garrick grins again, that stupid boyish smirk that irritates Harry more than anything else in the world.

He’d like nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face—but he would like to get on with the sex even more, so he tears open the foil and pulls out the condom. He’s never rolled one onto another man before, but it’s the same principle, although he feels just the smallest twinge of jealousy at the fact that Garrick is obviously much longer than him. Garrick’s cock also extends straight up toward his ridiculously chiseled chest when fully erect, which makes him look like the perfect specimen of sex, skin so smooth and pale, eyes dark with desire…

Harry suddenly wonders how long Garrick’s wanted to sleep with him—and why. The other man could have anyone he wanted.

He’s just about to ask him that when Garrick suddenly leans forward to steal a quick peck on the lips, which Harry takes as his cue to lie back. Garrick then grabs the packet of lube, squeezes the rest out onto his hand, and slicks himself up.

Harry watches him quietly as the other man settles between his legs, dimly aware of the pain as Garrick lines himself up and pushes in. “Slowly,” Harry breathes as a reminder, and Garrick listens, closing his eyes as he sinks all the way in.

And then everything is still for a moment. Harry continues to breathe. Garrick keeps his eyes screwed shut, as though trying to concentrate. Then the man leans down on his elbows and buries his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, peppering his skin languidly with kisses.

Harry doesn’t care much for the other man’s affections, but it distracts him from the sharp pain between his legs as Garrick pulls his hips slightly back before sinking in again.

Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he wraps his arms around his partner and splays his hands across his back, focusing on the feeling of his muscles tensing as Garrick establishes a rhythm. It feels so mechanical then, the steady push and pull of Garrick’s hips, breath hot against the side of Harry’s face as he pants in time with his thrusts. The pain eases up gradually though, Harry’s own cock rubbing pleasantly between their stomachs, so Harry snakes a hand down to stroke himself, feeling a little better as Garrick steadily picks up the pace.

“Yes,” Garrick sighs, shifting slightly so that he can reach down and hook his left arm under Harry’s knee, bending the leg upward. This opens Harry up a little more as he rocks harder, faster, in a way that hurts so good—so much so that Harry gasps, “ _More_.”

And Garrick is all too happy to oblige him, fucking him harder, teeth grazing the skin of Harry’s neck. It’s perfect, and Harry is suddenly close to coming, but then Garrick loses it, crying out as he reaches his own climax, thrusting slow but hard as he works his way through the pleasure. Which is fine, except it drags Harry back from his own climax as Garrick gently drops his leg and reaches between them to extract himself without losing the condom.

Frustrated, Harry’s filter completely flies out the window as he stares up at Garrick and says, “I think everyone’s wrong. You’re clearly the fastest man alive.”

Garrick looks at him in complete shock, mouth agape.

He looks so perfectly stupid, Harry almost laughs.

But then Garrick bows his head and starts to laugh himself, so hard in fact that he collapses on top of Harry.

Agitated, Harry tries to shove him off, but Garrick doesn’t budge, turning his head to kiss Harry on the cheek as he chuckles, “Christ, you’re rude… Let me get rid of this and I’ll suck you off, okay?”

Harry would much rather cuss him out, but he somehow manages to keep his mouth shut as Garrick gets up off the cot to dispose of his condom in the wastebasket beside the desk. Then he climbs back onto the cot, kneels between Harry’s legs, and takes Harry in hand, stroking him gently. “You know, despite your piss-and-vinegar attitude, you’re a fantastic lay.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters, not the least bit amused. But then Garrick ducks his head and takes him almost all the way down to the root, and Harry makes the most embarrassing noise as he cries out in shock.

Garrick stares up at Harry through his disheveled bangs, clearly pleased with Harry’s reaction as he slowly pulls back and sucks on just the head of Harry’s cock, tonguing the very tip before diving back down again.

Harry clamps his mouth shut, but he still makes the most shameful noises in the back of his throat. He leans his head back into his pillow and closes his eyes, unable to hold Garrick’s stare for very long. The man is a force of nature, even without his powers, bringing Harry back to the brink sooner than he expected. He fists his hand in Garrick’s hair and sucks in a deep breath when the man slips two fingers inside him again, crooking his fingers to rub against Harry’s prostate as he deep throats him.

Harry cries out his name in warning. Garrick pulls away just as Harry cums, leaving a mess all over his stomach as Garrick continues to rub him with his fingers, smirking, until Harry breathlessly commands him to stop.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Garrick sits up and reaches over for the tissue box on Harry’s nightstand, helping him clean up the worst of the mess before tossing it all in the wastebasket. Harry would love nothing more than to have a shower now, but his muscles suddenly won’t cooperate—and neither does Garrick, who immediately crawls back onto the bed and lies down beside him.

Harry tugs the pillow out from under his hips and tosses it on the floor, at the same time trying to wriggle away from the other man on the small cot. “Thanks again, but you’ve had your fun. There’s really no need to stick around.”

“Has anyone ever told you how _divine_ you are in the afterglow?” Garrick replies drily as he maneuvers Harry’s thin quilt up and over their cooling bodies. “I’d be more than happy to leave you to your own devices, if not for the fact that you’d probably wander off into the night the second I leave the room.”

Harry honestly doesn’t have enough energy to wander off the bed, let alone out of S.T.A.R. Labs, but he can see Garrick’s point. The moron is still trying to protect him, for god knows what reason.

“I hate you,” Harry mutters, as he turns onto his side, away from Garrick. Annoyingly, Garrick pulls up close behind him, throwing an arm casually over his waist. Harry sighs in irritation.

“I don’t know why,” Garrick mumbles, sounding drowsy now. He gives Harry’s waist a gentle squeeze. “I really hope that after we’ve returned to Earth 2, you and I learn how to get along. There’s so much we could achieve together.”

Harry isn’t necessarily opposed to that idea, but he still snorts, “I’m never sleeping with you again.”

“I think I might be able to change your mind,” Garrick rumbles smugly into the nape of Harry’s neck. Then he yawns and says, “Merry Christmas” before drifting off to sleep.

This Christmas is anything _but_ merry, but Harry really can’t think of anything witty to say. So he closes his eyes and allows himself to drift away as well, falling asleep faster than any other night he’s spent on Earth 1…

~*8*~

But in the dead of night, even in the haven of his own mind, the devil still comes for him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the story. 
> 
> I've never written something this long before, so all constructive criticism is fair game. Don't feel bad for asking me to fix anything.


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